


Turnabout is Fair Play

by especiallybannedbooks



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bondage, Come Inflation, Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Sex Magic, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/especiallybannedbooks/pseuds/especiallybannedbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Bull take turns introducing one another to the joys of their respective cultural heritages. The sexy bits, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters are deeply pornographic vignettes; look in vain for plot, o reader. Tags to be added as chapters are. What might you find in the future? [the kmeme prompt responsible might provide some clues.](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16181.html?thread=62172213#t62172213)

"So," Dorian said. His fingers tapped at the surface of the Bull's desk, a restless tattoo. Dust motes in the golden afternoon sunlight, a halo around his head. His face was shadowed. "I had thought you would be rather spooked by magic in the bedroom, but you were entirely undeterred by a spot of accidental arson. I find that interesting."

" _Do_ you," the Bull said. "You've got some filthy idea in that head of yours, haven't you."

"You don't need to sound quite so pleased," Dorian said.

The Bull laughed.

"If you would be interested," Dorian said, "I could show you some far more interesting and less personally humiliating tricks. It seems only fair, given—well."

Given how much he had recently enjoyed one or two of the Bull's toys. Enough to set fire to the curtains, to be exact.

"I show you mine, you show me yours," the Bull said, amused. He considered the idea of Dorian doing unmentionable things to him with magic.

It was, in fact, _very_ interesting.

Dorian made a small and incredibly unconvincing noise of disgust, glancing at the Bull's crotch. 

He was smiling.

"I'm just saying, I've got plenty more, too," the Bull said. "Hey, my eyes are up here. You only want me for my body, don't you."

"Your sense of humour will be the death of me," Dorian said. "Or the death of you, I suppose, if you catch me on a bad day."

"Aww, it's alright," the Bull said. "Don't mind providing a service."

Dorian laughed; took a step towards the Bull like he was considering being serviced. Hesitated.

"We seem to be getting off track," he said. 

"Yeah," the Bull said. "Yeah. The answer's yeah."

"But we talk about it first," Dorian said, pre-empting him. He'd gotten the hang of it now. "And you hold up your end of this bargain as well. A cultural exchange, if you will."

"Sure thing," the Bull said, and then Dorian came and straddled his lap, and then they were completely and irrevocably off track for the better part of the next hour.

 

 

Not too difficult to grab a quiet afternoon, free from responsibilities. The thing about these kinds of wars was that they were slow, for the most part. Dragging boredom and intense action. Enough time for a completely different kind of intense action here and there.

"Electricity, of course, is a favourite," Dorian said. He was naked, stretched out on his back on the Bull's bed, casual as anything. The Bull, the overdressed one for once in his life, was sitting on the floor beside him, back against the wooden frame of the bed. He'd been reading. 

In an unspoken game where the Bull was meant to ignore Dorian for as long as possible, Dorian could be counted on to play as dirty as possible.

Playing dirty was a specialty of his, generally speaking.

He sighed, now; shifted, the sheets dragging against his skin. Hummed—maybe thoughtful.

More probably because the plug he had shown up wearing had done something interesting inside him, if the little catch of his breath at the end was anything to go by.

"It can provoke very interesting responses," Dorian said. "Would you like a taste?"

Fingers hovering just over the nape of the Bull's neck, raising hair, static like an impending storm.

The Bull turned the page in his book, having taken in exactly nothing of its contents.

Dorian's hand fell away.

The smell of lightning, muted; the faintest crackle of it, something carefully controlled. A gasp from Dorian, the kick of one foot against the mattress.

What did he do? what did his face look like?

The Bull closed his eye, since Dorian couldn't see his face either.

"Perhaps we should ease you in more gently," Dorian said after a moment. Only slightly breathless, for which he probably deserved credit. "A little magic on me, rather than you. Healing magic can do all sorts of things. I don't have any talent for it if it's life or death, but I can play. Make myself able to keep going for a very, very long time—you could get me off over and over again and I wouldn't get soft. Wouldn't that be interesting?"

That'd be one word for it.

The Bull was starting to feel kind of uncomfortably damp between his legs. His dick felt tight, just this side of aching. There were just so damn many possibilities—Dorian fucking him and fucking him, coming inside him and just carrying right on—

He closed his book and laid it very carefully to one side.

"Alright," he said, standing, hands fumbling on the laces of his pants. "Think we'd better fuck right now. Get your damn magic fingers to make good on some promises. Unless you're all talk?"

"You have no idea," Dorian said, his laugh breathless. "But not this moment, I think. One should be properly prepared."

"I think," the Bull said, "I'm gonna be mysteriously unable to work tomorrow."

"Hmm," Dorian said, playing at considering. "What a shame. I trust you aren't feeling too infirm to fuck me right now? I mean to say, I'm keeping myself _tolerably_ entertained—"

"When did you sneak that thing out, anyway?" the Bull asked.

"While you were distracted," Dorian said, laughing. He was kneeling now, heels tucked under him, pressing up against his ass. He rocked his weight back onto them, and the laugh turned shaky. "I'm very distracting. We've talked about this."

Which plug was it, anyway? How much did Dorian have hidden up there?

Probably quite a bit. He'd _liked_ the bigger ones. 

Chances were he'd only put it in to come here—he wasn't really into public games outside of spaces that were made for them, which the Bull could respect; no point risking making other people uncomfortable if they figured it out. But the image of Dorian wandering around Skyhold all casual with something almost the size of the Bull's dick in him was a sudden sharp jolt that the Bull felt deep in his gut. Fantasy material.

"Come here," Dorian said, and stretched out a hand. "Let's do something filthy."

The Bull let himself be laid out on the bed, on his back. Dorian bowed over him. A kiss to the curve of his stomach. Hands on his hips, holding him down until Dorian had managed to straddle him. 

Dorian arched, shifted. A hand against the Bull's stomach for balance as he tipped his body sideways, back, until he must have hold of the base of the plug.

"Not gonna let me?" the Bull asked. "Shit. You do like to tease."

"I might," Dorian said. His arm moved, hand still unseen behind him. The muscles in his stomach tightened. "If you ask nicely."

"Please," the Iron Bull said. Grinned. "Ser."

Dorian smacked his stomach, gasping a laugh. "Don't be ludicrous," he said. "Try again. Or I'll just let you lie there and watch. Maybe I don't need your cock _that_ much."

"You do," the Bull said.

"Well, you don't need to sound so smug about it," Dorian said, and then moaned, not showy but like he'd startled himself with how good whatever he'd just done had felt. His _face_ — 

And yeah, the Bull kind of needed him.

"Please," he said, and it came out fervent, as fervent as he felt. It wasn't meant to. But there it was, already said.

" _Oh,_ " Dorian said, like the word held as much of a revelation for him as it had for the Bull. Shuddered. "Yes. Very well. Have me, then."

The Bull dragged him forward by the hip so that he almost fell; he caught himself with his hands heavy on the Bull's chest, laughing again; gasping, when the Bull got a hold of the base of the plug and twisted it, tugged at it, felt with his fingers the way Dorian's hole stretched around it. Slick enough that the Bull chanced pushing a fingertip in beside it, teasing, experimental.

Ridges under the pad of his finger, the textured swell of a plug he'd actually never used on Dorian before; had figured was big enough to only really be interesting to someone his size. Well, _shit_.

Dorian's cock jerked against his stomach.

"You're feeling ambitious," the Bull said. "That's hot. Magic ass to go with your magic fingers. You're gonna be so loose when I fuck you. I'm gonna be able to just thrust right in."

He tugged at the plug, working it carefully outward until the broadest swell of it slipped free. Dorian's arms were shaking, his lips parted, and when the Bull pushed the plug inward again he just fell forward, breath shuddering unevenly against the Bull's throat.

The Bull stroked his hair with his free hand. "You good?"

"Don't stop," Dorian said. "Fuck me with it. Maker, I have no idea why Tevinter doesn't bother with these things."

"Alright," the Bull said. "Alright. Hold on."

He fumbled for the oil, liberal with it on the plug, spreading Dorian enough to work more inside him.

A wet, obscene noise as he thrust the toy shallowly into Dorian, not pushing the knot-like bulge all the way in, but testing.

" _Bull_ ," Dorian said. "Must you be so—oh— _oh_ —"

"Fuck," the Bull said, feeling how easily Dorian's body opened. "You good with turning around? I want to see."

"Mm," Dorian said, "yes, I—yes."

Awkward fumbling to rearrange themselves, bodies clumsy with arousal.

Dorian leaned his head against the crease of the Bull's thigh. Breath against the Bull's balls, already tight and heavy.

With his legs splayed wide across the Bull's considerable chest, it was easy to see exactly how the plug stretched him, how its ridges and bumps dragged against him. Pretty easy, too, to tell how that made him feel, with his cock pressed against the Bull's sternum, pulse thudding heavy through it.

The Bull pulled the plug slowly free, all of it, small thrusts and twists to make Dorian's body jerk as he did it even as Dorian made a wordless noise of protest.

"Where do you even put all this, huh?" the Bull asked. The plug was exactly as big as he remembered, longer than his damn dick, thicker at the base. Not thicker than his knot, but it wasn't like he'd ever fucked Dorian with that inflated, dragged it in and out of his body to feel how he stretched around it—

Maybe he should.

It was looking more and more like Dorian would be up for it.

"Put a hand against my stomach when you fuck me with it," Dorian said. He managed to sound smug, even as his hips moved restlessly against the Bull's chest, body searching urgently for stimulation. "You'll see. Come _on_ , you wretched tease."

 _Oh_.

It was so damn easy to slide the plug back into Dorian, and Dorian responded so damn prettily, moaned and arched, shifted his hips to look for the best angle. Not surprising he sobbed when he found it; if the Bull had been able to set things on fire with his mind he probably would've with all those textures against _his_ prostate. He'd always loved getting fucked with this one.

Dorian fumbled for the Bull's hand, the one that had been resting on Dorian's thigh, steadying him; dragged it between them, used his palm to press the Bull's hand heavily up against his stomach, and—shit, yeah, shit, he really could _feel_ it. Every little thrust, every shift.

"Crap, Dorian," he breathed. "You're something else."

"I know," Dorian said, and turned his face so that his lips were brushing against the side of the Bull's dick, so that the Bull lost his rhythm with a start. Dorian's lips curved, unseen but felt. "I'm not going to suck you off. If you think I'm not going to ride you after this then you underestimate me."

Every word a brush against him, Dorian's lips damp and warm.

"Uh," the Bull said. He felt unsteady, too hot, damn turned on, only from seeing Dorian showing off like this. Only from lips against the side of his dick.

"Bull," Dorian said, prompting; shifted in a very deliberate way to display himself, which also had the effect of pushing the head of the plug more firmly out against his stomach, against the Bull's hand. "Must I tell you what to do?"

And _that_ jolted through the Bull; Dorian must have felt it, surely he'd felt it, the Bull's dick straining against his lips.

"Please," he said, and it came out as a hoarse growl.

Dorian's laughter was giddy. How much he laughed in bed these days, how fucking good it made the Bull feel to hear it, every single time.

"Fuck me," Dorian said. "Shallow thrusts. But fast. You're going to get me off without touching my cock. And then I'm going to ride you. Is that specific enough, or should I draw you a map?"

He turned his face, cheek against the Bull's dick, rubbing back and forth with maddeningly light pressure. Precome smeared. On Dorian's _face_.

"Got it," the Bull said, and obeyed. 

Hard and shallow, the widest part of the plug never quite pushing all the way into Dorian, keeping him stretched so fucking wide. And Dorian shuddered his way through it, whole body jerks as his dick pulsed precome all over the Bull's chest, so damn messy, _filthy_ —

When he came, he more or less wailed; buried his face in the thick hair at the Bull's crotch to muffle it, hands clenching desperately. On and on. Hot on the Bull's stomach.

The Bull kept the plug moving in him all the way through it, tiny twists to let Dorian feel the shape of it, not really thrusting. Dorian sighed when the Bull finally pulled the thing free, laying it carefully to one side on the bed; sighed again when the Bull pressed his thumbs into Dorian, spreading him gently, checking the state of him.

"Do I pass muster?" he murmured. "I still want your cock."

"Insatiable," the Bull said.

"You like it," Dorian said, and alright, Dorian had him there, throwing his usual line back at him.

"Sure you can manage it? Looking kind of boneless there."

"Always I am underestimated," Dorian said, sounding as long-suffering as anyone who'd just had a drawn out body-shaking orgasm had ever managed. He rolled off the Bull, up onto his knees so he could shift around to kneel over the Bull's stomach again, facing him. "Consider this a taste of what's to come."

The cool wash of magic.

Dorian sank down onto the Bull's cock with a small noise of pleasure, one movement, no resistance at all; shifted his hips absently, and dropped a hand between his legs, fondling at his dick, not really stroking.

It began to fill.

"Fuck," the Bull said, and Dorian smirked down at him, rocked his hips more pointedly.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Do try to keep up."


	2. Chapter 2

A measure of how much Dorian had gotten under his skin, almost from the beginning:

The Bull _wanted._ Wanted Dorian, in detailed and specific ways that he hardly knew what to do with. But in themselves, the wants were clear enough. 

Were intensely, urgently clear at that exact moment, with Dorian edging slowly towards proper consciousness in the Bull's bed, naked and glorious and really not very covered by the blankets at all, for all he complained about the cold. He'd been there when the Bull got up to find them food, and he was there when the Bull got back. He was there a lot.

He _should_ be there a lot.

He stirred when the Bull bent to unlace his boots, stretching and twisting his body, joints settling. Blinked his eyes open, although he still lay stomach down, side of his face pressed into the pillow.

"Oh, good," he said. "I'm not going to be murdered in my sleep. Hello."

"Sorry to disappoint," the Bull said.

"I'll forgive you if there are apples," Dorian said.

There were apples. He held one up to demonstrate.

"Ugh, not now," Dorian said. "It's too early to actually _eat_ them. Tea?"

There was tea.

"About your healing trick," the Bull said, as he hung the kettle on its hook above the fire. He was feeling slightly self-conscious, which was a new one when it came to sex. "Uh. I guess this isn't what you had in mind, but you think you could use it to fuck me?" 

"Oh," Dorian said. "I don't know, that sounds like a terrible hardship. I think you should elaborate."

He was smiling, kind, in counterpoint to his words. An intrigued sort of look. He reached for the Bull, rolling over in the unmade bed, legs tangled in sheets but body bare. The Bull settled himself obligingly on the edge of the mattress.

"Not trying to say I've never been fucked a bunch of times in a row," the Bull said, "but it's been a while. Been thinking I miss it, kind of. And if it's being fucked a bunch of times in a row by _you_ —" He shrugged.

" _Oh,_ " Dorian said again, with a completely different tone; one which implied he was thinking very, very hard about the image of the Bull surrounded by dicks.

Actually, the Bull had never done it with anyone but the Tamassrans. A different kind of experience, submitting himself completely to them. Not the kind of thing to do with strangers or casual acquaintances—too heavy for that, for him at least. Not the kind of thing to do with anyone, he'd have said, not when he had been a spy.

But he wasn't a spy now. 

And there was Dorian.

Only an idea, so far. A want. But maybe, maybe, eventually. And for now, this.

"You do have a pretty great dick," he said. "Can't blame a guy for wanting it in him."

"For an extended period of time," Dorian said.

"Shit yeah."

Laughter from Dorian at that. "You do mean it, then."

"Yeah," the Bull said. "If you're up for it."

"I will be," Dorian said, and wiggled his fingers in demonstration, corners of his eyes creasing attractively. "Magic fingers."

"Dirty," the Bull said, and bent down to kiss him; grunted against Dorian's lips when Dorian turned it from affectionate to genuinely filthy, open mouthed and sloppy, his body arching against nothing. His hand closed around the Bull's horn.

When they parted, Dorian had his other hand pressed between his legs. But the lopsided smile he gave the Bull was only affection.

The Bull ached with it.

"Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself," Dorian said, with lazy wonder. His hand curled loosely around his dick. "You're very distracting."

"Tea first," the Bull said. "Food too. Keep your strength up."

"You're far too pleased with yourself considering we're playing my game today," Dorian said.

"I don't know, maybe something about how fucking hot you are," the Bull said.

Dorian laughed in open delight.

He consented to tea, and to eating the segments of apple the Bull cut for him together with porridge. So many pieces to learn: Dorian struggled with food in the morning, his stomach slow to settle. He drank his tea strong and without honey; wrinkled his nose at the way the Bull sweetened his own. He loved apples and grapes, but didn't care for pears, which was pretty weird. 

A catalogue of facts.

"Come here," Dorian said at last, setting his cup aside and leaning back against the headboard. "Kiss me."

The Bull went to him.

Knelt for him, over him, sheets cool against skin.

Kissed him.

Dorian moaned, so softly, a swallowed sound.

"How do you want me?" the Bull asked.

"Sit up for a moment," Dorian said. "May I use a little magic? I feel this may be more fun if you're thoroughly relaxed to begin with." A hand pressed to the Bull's lower abdomen, low enough that he felt it in his cock, demonstrated the specificity of the magic in question. Nothing for the mind. Just the body.

"Alright," the Bull said, with a little thrill of anticipation at the forbidden. Fucking ridiculous. Everything about this was forbidden, for both of them.

Dorian's hands were warm—magically warm, the heat radiating deep into him until he felt strangely loose in some way he couldn't quite define. A little bit empty.

"Huh," he said, and then, "Oh," as the heat spiked into the usual kind, the hot pressure of arousal, a weird contrast between the thud of his pulse in his dick and the whatever-it-was deeper inside him.

"Is this alright?"

"Yeah," the Bull said, because it really, really was, and maybe the fact that it was alright wasn't really, in itself, alright. But a guy could only tie himself in knots so much with someone like Dorian doing obscene things to him. "Damn. Fuck me."

"On your stomach," Dorian said, and tossed a couple of pillows down on the bed to demonstrate exactly where; kissed the Bull once more before he could make a move to obey. "On you go. Where did you leave the oil?"

"Under the bed," the Bull said. "Yeah, over there."

He shifted his hips experimentally, the pillows holding them up for Dorian's convenience rubbing pleasantly against his dick.

"Can you not wait one minute," Dorian said with that same obvious fondness as earlier, and swatted lightly at the Bull's ass. A running joke.

"Nope," the Bull said. " _Someone_ 's going out of their way to make me horny."

"You are, in fact, always horny," Dorian said. "I don't know if anyone has pointed it out to you. It's one of your most memorable traits. I thought when I first met you, oh my, what a terribly horny man."

"Pointed it out," the Bull said. "That's a good one. Get it. Pointed, because they're so _pointy._ "

Dorian, who had bent to kiss the Bull's back, giggled against his skin. "You aren't funny," he said.

"That's hurtful," the Bull said. "Damn, come on, get on with it."

"Patience, patience," Dorian said, which was pretty hilarious coming from him. But he did spread the Bull open, hands on his ass, rubbing and squeezing. That was pretty fucking good. "Word to stop?"

"Katoh," the Bull said.

Dorian's fingers in him were better. It was _easy_ , barely any resistance in his body at all, and when Dorian curled them just right to get his prostate, pads of his fingers pressing against it harder and harder by degrees, the Bull had to curl his fingers convulsively in the sheets, his thighs trembling.

And then Dorian fucked him. A long slow push as the Bull panted into the mattress. Slow, slow. Unhurried. Nowhere to be.

"Oh," Dorian said, "you always feel so good—"

He ground his hips against the Bull, his dick shifting minutely, the smallest of tremors shaking the Bull, resonating through him.

It was anticipation, mostly. Dorian's weight above him, the pressure inside him. To have more, and more, and more.

Dorian's breath shuddered. He rolled his hips harder, harder, by degrees, until he was gasping. Weight on one hand, the nails of his other dragged roughly against the Bull's nipple, the relative insensitivity of the Bull's skin there letting him be rough, clawing, pinching, twisting sharply, fuck, fuck, it felt—

"Don't come," Dorian breathed, and the Bull, panting, fought for equilibrium, for something to ground him, hands in the sheets, hips pushed back and up against Dorian to leave his cock untouched as Dorian's dick jerked inside him, pulsing and pulsing and pulsing as Dorian, at least, came.

They breathed together in silence, Dorian's hips still pressed close against the Bull's ass, against the backs of his thighs. Dorian eased the Bull down to lie against the pillows again, stroking soothingly along his back.

The Bull didn't really feel soothed. He felt hot all over, body tingling with the static of almost-orgasm. But he wanted Dorian's hands, wanted them with a weird intensity. Anticipation, this too, maybe.

"More?" Dorian murmured, when the Bull's body had sunk back into itself a little.

"Yeah," the Bull said.

"I'm about to use magic, then," Dorian said, and gave the Bull three beats before he actually did it, because he was more considerate than he liked to pretend.

It washed across the Bull by proxy, just like the day before, and he shivered at it, not unpleasantly.

Dorian, clearly worried there was unpleasantness in there, stroked carefully at his hip.

"I'm good," the Bull said. "Just need you."

Dorian hummed acknowledgement—shifted a little bit, experimental movements, and, shit, the Bull could _feel_ how Dorian's dick started to fill again, still inside him, slowly growing pressure like a knot in miniature, nothing he'd ever felt with human dick before.

They moaned in unison.

It was a quick thing again, Dorian not bothering to hold back, just fucking him and fucking him until the Bull felt how Dorian spilled inside him again, deep and prolonged.

"Should change position," Dorian murmured. His chest was damp against the Bull's back. "Oh. I don't want to pull out."

"Once more," the Bull said, and he could hear how weird his voice sounded, how pleading. "You going to start coming dry?"

"No," Dorian said. Managed a laugh, although he was still breathless. "This can be as filthy as you like."

"Keep coming inside me," the Bull said. "I want—"

"Yes?" Dorian prompted when he broke off.

"Keep going," the Bull said. "Use that magic of yours on me too if it means we can fuck for longer. Don't want to stop. Plug me up if we need to move around." They were, realistically, going to need to move around.

The idea of emptiness twisted inside him.

" _Oh,_ " Dorian said, and cast his tiny bit of healing magic again, and was fucking the Bull before the Bull could even think to beg for it.

How long?

They shifted together, clung. Moved for the Bull to sit on Dorian's lap, Dorian's hands pressed to his stomach as they fucked and fucked until the Bull felt so damn full, until his dick ached with the need to be touched, a sharp counterpoint to the easy slide of Dorian's dick inside him. 

If he was smaller, would he be able to see the way he was filling up with Dorian's come? His stomach rounding out under Dorian's hands—?

He tightened reflexively around Dorian at the heat of the thought, grunting heavily, his legs on the verge of shaking.

"Easy," Dorian murmured. "Easy." It was slow again this time, the Bull barely coordinated enough to set any faster rhythm. It made the whole thing feel exactly as intimate as it was.

He needed, needed— 

"Dorian," he mumbled.

"Yes," Dorian said. "I think you should come now. Like this?"

"Hands and knees," the Bull said, because he knew they'd give out when he came, wanted it, the physical evidence of how Dorian shook him.

Hands and knees, then. He'd thought maybe they could turn it rough, but Dorian was still slow and careful, slow and careful, hands tender on the Bull's hips—on his stomach again, like maybe Dorian was thinking about how much of his come was inside the Bull too, even with bits that had spilled obscenely out when they shifted around.

Tender on the Bull's dick, like Dorian knew how he ached.

And it was enough.

It was too much.

It was enough.

Almost. Almost enough.

The Bull's arms gave out, like he knew they would. _He_ gave out, shaking and shaking and shaking and unable to stop it and wanting it and wanting it and wanting it and—

How long did it take?

No way to tell.

Dorian's hands never left him, through it.

"There," he said. "There."

The Bull heaved deep, gasping breaths.

"I think we're done, don't you?" Dorian murmured, stroking his back again, always so tender when nobody was looking, even when he was at his most biting, these touches, such a gentle guy—

"No," the Bull said, although he wasn't sure he could take any more. He didn't feel ready. "Put the plug back in."

"Maker," Dorian said. But he obeyed, with careful fingers against the Bull's hole to test the state of him just like the Bull had done for him before. Care for care. Care for care's sake. "Can I at least heal you a little?"

"Sure," the Bull said, and was glad for it when the plug pressed into him; glad for the lack of the chaffing edge to the feeling, glad for the way his body found enough energy for a spark of interest.

"I could also do something for your poor stomach if you like," Dorian said. "Is this all really comfortable for you?"

There _was_ an edge of discomfort to it, to the fullness, but he wanted it so damn badly, with an intensity that he couldn't explain to himself, was kind of wary of _trying_ to explain. People figured out things about themselves they didn't expect in bed all the time. Apparently he was a guy who really liked being stuffed full of come. What about it? He liked being full of a lot of things, although in a lot of cases not in a specifically sexy way.

What about the fact that you really want it to be Dorian's come, a treacherous voice suggested to him. It sounded a lot like—nah, better not to think about it at all.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. Alright."

"Sit up," Dorian said, and helped him do it. "Here."

Hands again, heat, soothing and relaxing muscles that had begun to protest unfamiliar use. Relaxing the feeling of uncomfortable pressure, although not the feeling of fullness.

"Damn," the Bull said. "Alright, you're good at this."

"I am," Dorian agreed. "But even I have my limits. I need to eat and possibly take a little nap or I'm going to run out of energy. If it's not some sort of terrible imposition to deprive you of my cock for an hour or so."

"It's alright," the Bull said, and refrained very carefully from saying anything about already having Dorian in him anyway, because he couldn't quite trust it to come out as a joke.

His turn to pick at his food while Dorian ate like he was starving. His turn to sprawl on the bed while Dorian fussed around the room. It'd grown so bright while they fucked, the day well underway, sun slanting through the south-facing window, haloing Dorian again, a revelation every time. It was part of a routine, almost.

It _could_ be part of a routine.

The warmth of it clung to Dorian's skin when he slipped back into the bed and let the Bull pull him close, tight against the Bull's side so the Bull could bury his face in Dorian's hair.

He drifted.

When he woke up, he woke up already fucking horny, overly aware of the plug inside him, of _wanting._ Dorian was, improbably, half-hard against the Bull's thigh; the Bull was all the way there without doing a damn thing to encourage it.

"Like eighteen year olds," Dorian mumbled against the Bull's armpit. "Except for the fact that we're competent."

"I was a pretty competent eighteen year old," the Bull said.

"Some of us," Dorian said, "did not, in fact, receive a formal education in how to have sex in a satisfactory manner."

"Speaking of," the Bull said, turning his body so that his dick slid against Dorian's thigh, and Dorian laughed.

"I suppose so," he said. "How tediously predictable we are."

But that didn't stop him laying the Bull half on his side, upper body turned to save his horns, and fucking him mercilessly. No denial, this time; Dorian's hand on the Bull's dick instead, as rough and quick as the thrusts of his hips.

It didn't stop him from holding the Bull's hand as they fucked with the Bull on his front again.

It didn't stop him from tugging the Bull's nipples between his teeth as he bent over him to fuck him where he lay on his back.

His hands strayed again and again to the Bull's stomach, some unspoken wonder.

"Bull," he murmured, later, as the Bull lay panting and oversensitive, stomach striped with his own come. "Sit up. I think—"

The Bull struggled to obey, groaning at the movement of the plug that Dorian had carefully slid back into him, short but fat, placed through glorious misfortune just right to bump against his prostate on a regular basis.

"Look," Dorian said. He had a cloth, damp from the Bull's basin, to wipe the Bull's stomach clean. He lingered there, pressed his hand down a bit to make the Bull grunt. "Look."

His stomach had rounded. Not a lot, not like he could probably make Dorian's swell if he put his mind to it, but definitely, noticeably, and shit, shit, _shit_ , that was—that was something. A bunch of something. 

"Look what you did," the Bull said, amazed. "Damn, you're magnificent." He shifted his hips more deliberately, arched his back—the dual benefit of grinding down on the plug to feel the pleasure-discomfort of it and artificially pushing out his stomach to make it look bigger.

"You'll be the death of me," Dorian said, and he said it thoughtlessly in old Tevene like he was completely damn distracted by the sight.

That felt pretty good too.

"Another go?" the Bull asked.

"I'm amazed you can take it," Dorian said. He was touching the Bull's stomach again, both hands to it, flat-palmed. Gentle pressure.

"Can't," the Bull said. "Let's do it anyway."

"You are utterly foolish," Dorian said, but he did fuck the Bull again all the same.


	3. Chapter 3

The Bull was at his desk when Dorian arrived, finishing the painstaking work of his evening reports; heard Dorian on the landing outside before Dorian knocked, the particular way he always hesitated, the one floorboard that Dorian always stepped on, almost like he was giving the Bull advanced warning on purpose.

The Bull lay down his brush. Considered the small pouch that lay on the desk beside his papers. The unremarkable look of the thing. The feeling of committing to something undefined and possibly dangerous that came with the effort he'd put into getting hold of its contents.

The extent to which he didn't give a shit.

"It's open," he called.

A weird bit of ritual, this; not like Dorian ever wouldn't be welcome in his room, not like he didn't want Dorian in it way too much of the time. But it was kind of touching. A respect for suspected boundaries.

Sweet, in a very Dorian way. Deniable.

Dorian closed the door very softly behind him.

"Hey," the Bull said.

Dorian smiled like a secret.

"Hello," he said. "I believe you promised me something interesting."

"Yeah," the Bull said. "Shit yeah. Sorry it took a while. Had to get some help for this one. Take a look."

He handed the pouch to Dorian, who stayed close, leaning against the Bull's shoulder as he opened it up and considered the flexible leather strips inside, a few different sizes, buckles holding them closed into rings; a few metal rings, too, the fastenings on those nearly invisible. A raised eyebrow when the Bull shifted to wrap an arm around his hips.

"Are you planning to put collars on ravens? Or propose marriage to an Orlesian dragon, perhaps?" Dorian asked. "I know you have a fetish, but preparing for an exchange of ludicrously large rings does seem rather optimistic of you."

"Hey, you don't know that," the Bull said. "Maybe she likes me."

"Now now," Dorian said. "Fucking a dragon is one thing. But marriage? Really? Think of the songs our dear bard would inflict on us all."

He turned one of the rings over in his hand.

"They go on your dick," the Bull said. "Keep you nice and hard. Make it real difficult to get off."

Dorian's interest sharpened, instantly apparent in the shift of his body against the Bull's, the set of his mouth.

"For me, or you?"

The Bull gestured to the variety of sizes. "Whatever does it for you."

"As though you didn't have very definite ideas you've been considering in detail for the last week," Dorian said. "You can't fool me with your mindless tool nonsense. You know _exactly_ what you want."

"My tool—"

"Do not finish that sentence," Dorian said. "As though Sera wasn't bad enough."

The Bull grinned. "You don't know where I was going."

"I protest," Dorian said. "I know very well that it was somewhere atrocious enough to make me question my choices."

The Bull pulled him a little closer, shifted in his chair to press his face against Dorian's chest for a moment, breathing him in, a deep inhale, a growled exhale.

Dorian's hand went to the base of his skull, fingers scratching across stubble.

"What do you want, Bull?" he asked.

Like it was simple.

But it was, really. Of course it was.

"I think," the Bull said, "we should try a bunch of shit. How do you feel about me playing with you in every way I can think of until you can't take another minute without coming?"

Dorian's breath caught. Yeah, that was a thing.

"Positive," Dorian said.

"You need to know more about what I'm gonna do?"

"I'd rather not," Dorian said. "I do enjoy a nice surprise. It's like Satinalia, only I'm not drunk and there's only one of you. What else?"

"I could pay you back for your last trick," the Bull said. "Put a ring on myself and fuck you. Not gonna be able to fill you up, but—"

He shrugged one shoulder.

"You mean, in other words, to overwhelm me completely," Dorian said. He sounded amused, and that settled the Bull into certainty. The right thing.

"That's pretty much it, yeah," the Bull said. "Make a mess of you. Take you apart. You look so fucking good when you let me do that. Makes me feel pretty damn lucky."

"You're a sentimental creature after all," Dorian said. "I must tell Varric, since it seems inevitable that he'll write his wretched book. You will suffer as I suffer. It's only fair."

He was still holding the Bull's head, both hands now, thumbs on the sensitive skin just behind the Bull's ears.

The Bull took the chance to get a handful of Dorian's ass, and that made Dorian laugh and moan on the same breath.

"So," the Bull said. "You game?"

"I'm game," Dorian said. "Do with me what you will."

And what the Bull wanted, wanted, wanted was this:

Dorian, sitting on the edge of the bed, his cock still mostly soft but beginning to harden as the Bull mouthed at it. The outer layers of his clothes discarded to leave only a thin inner vest, leggings pulled down around his ankles, the whole thing more filthy and gorgeous than if he'd been totally naked.

Time for that later.

Time now to breathe in deeply until Dorian filled him: sank into his lungs, into his blood. 

Time now to tease, not sucking Dorian off but tasting him, tugging at his foreskin with gentle lips, dragging his tongue across Dorian's balls. The press of a thumb up behind them.

Dorian sighed, a hitching noise of contentment.

Didn't take long to get his dick thoroughly interested.

"Last chance to get off," the Bull said. Grinned up at Dorian. "Get it?"

"I detest you," Dorian said, and undermined himself with the shock of his genuine, open smile. "You and your hideous trousers deserve each other. And _no._ Do it."

The Bull picked up a metal ring in what he figured was probably a size small enough to restrict Dorian's dick while not pushing into major discomfort, tested it around his fingers, compared.

"Was I unclear?" Dorian asked imperiously, because he always had to, pushing and pushing where the Bull held back, a part of their strange balance.

"Just making sure I don't hurt you," the Bull said, and picked the next size up. Dorian was a big guy, for a human.

"Well, that doesn't sound very fun," Dorian said. "I thought we'd established—"

"In a bad way," the Bull clarified. Rubbed a hand up the inside of Dorian's thigh, brushed his fingers against the base of Dorian's dick just to remind him where they were at; got a little sigh for his trouble, Dorian shifting on the bed, spreading his legs a bit wider. "Here. Hold still."

Dorian watched intently, leaning back on his palms, as the Bull fastened the ring in place around the very base of his cock, behind his balls. More experimental shifting.

"Comfortable?" the Bull asked.

"For now," Dorian said. "Not for long, I hope."

The Bull sat back on his heels to take in the way Dorian looked, still half-dressed, restrained in a whole new way. "Let me get some stuff out," he said. "Hang on."

"If you must," Dorian said, but with a shiver.

A few different plugs, because they worked for everyone involved. Cuffs. Red fabric to blindfold with. Nothing they hadn't used before.

He looked to Dorian for confirmation that each one was alright. Received it.

"Gonna give me control?" he asked. "Let me make you feel good?"

"Yes," Dorian said. Pliant. He was in a pliant mood. Relaxed easily under the Bull's hands. 

Why?

Why not, maybe. Dorian usually wanted to be wrestled into submission if he was going to submit at all, but here he was.

"Word to stop," the Bull said.

"Katoh," Dorian said, diligent. "I'm ready." The conclusion of the moment where they both said what they meant. The space between talking shit and coming apart, navigated.

"Right," the Bull said. 

The thrill of beginning.

He knelt again, between Dorian's legs. Very gently lifted Dorian's feet one at a time to pull his leggings free, lingered on the joints of the ankle, massaged the tension out of his feet.

He figured Dorian might fight him on that, the slow softness of it, but Dorian only looked down at him with a faintly bemused expression, cheeks flushed.

The Bull lifted Dorian's legs with the same care, and lay them over his shoulders, Dorian's heels digging into his back.

"Hold on if you need to," he said, and bowed himself forward to close his mouth around Dorian's dick.

" _Oh,_ " Dorian said, "oh—"

Curled forward, hands on the Bull's horns although they'd barely begun.

Anticipation. Always the anticipation.

Dorian's dick was so hard against his tongue, the ring making it feel as though Dorian was already desperate for it. Maybe he even was, a bit.

His hands were tight on the Bull's horns, felt not in the horns themselves but in the way his head was tugged at.

The Bull pressed forward, Dorian's dick pressing against his throat. Swallowed. _Damn_ but human dicks always felt good in his mouth, the smoothness of them, the softness of the skin. Pretty much all dicks had their points, but for this in particular—yeah.

"That feels," Dorian said. "That—"

The Bull pulled back to look up at him. "Different, right?"

"Different," Dorian repeated. "Yes. You could say that. Bull, please—"

"Yeah," the Bull said. Stroked Dorian's hip. "It's alright. Just feel it."

Not long, not long at all, until Dorian's body was shuddering, until he was gasping—need, need, need on every breath.

If they were playing one of their more common games, this would be when the Bull would pull away, deny. Maybe press his fingers hard against the base of Dorian's dick like the ring is doing for him now, if Dorian seemed really close.

But this pressure wasn't going to let up.

The Bull kept going. Swallowed Dorian's dick into his throat again, or dragged his lips over the head, or teased under the foreskin with his tongue. 

Sucked Dorian's balls into his mouth one at a time, the metal of the ring warm against his lips. Stroked Dorian all the while to make sure there was no relief.

Slick fingers under him, pushing against Dorian's hole—pushing in, not really fucking, just pressing, slowly stretching.

Dorian's leg kicked against the Bull's back, thighs shaking where they were hooked over the Bull's shoulder. His breath sobbed. Overstimulation. Overstimulation in the desperate tightly furled sigil of his body, in the scrabbling of his hands at the base of the Bull's horns. His hips twisted, direction uncertain, towards, away, towards— 

Oh, but he sounded unhappier when the Bull finally pulled back.

"You're alright," the Bull said. Let Dorian hear the hoarse edge to his voice, the evidence of how enthusiastic he'd been about Dorian's dick in his throat. Let Dorian see how into the sight of him the Bull was, looking up at him with wonder. The damp mess of his face, eyes charcoal-dark smudges, hair disheveled. "Fucking gorgeous. Shirt off. Lie back for me. Yeah, like this. Here. I'm gonna cuff your hands."

Easier to talk than to think. Easier to think than to feel. But oh, oh how he felt. A difficult, clawing thing that sank every sharp part of itself into the Bull's chest, curled up under his sternum. A cat, terrified.

Control it.

He closed the leather cuffs carefully around Dorian's wrists, held out for him without hesitation. Watched the stuttering rise and full of Dorian's chest, the way he panted still. 

Cuffs hooked to headboard. Fabric drawn over eyes.

The softness in those eyes right before Dorian closed them. The hazy distance that meant he was letting go.

"There," the Bull said. "If you can't speak or touch me, what's the signal to stop?"

The air chilled around them, the change abrupt and brief, a flicker of ice. Dorian was smiling, a bit, but not really like it was a joke, not any more.

"And to let me know you're alright?"

Heat.

Sometimes for gags or face-fucking, that one; mostly, though, for times when Dorian was floating enough to start losing words.

"Good," the Bull said. Drew one of his hands flat-palmed down Dorian's chest, over his stomach. Lay it gently over Dorian's dick, only that enough to make Dorian gasp and arch. "Tell me what you need."

If Dorian was in a fractious mood he'd snap something about getting off.

"To be filled," Dorian said. He'd let his head fall back against the pillows, throat bare.

It'd look good with a collar.

It'd look good with a bite mark.

"Damn," the Bull said. "Alright. You'll get it."

He picked up one of the smaller plugs, the curve of it shaped more to make sure it hit the wearer's prostate as much as possible than for stretching—small enough that Dorian wouldn't need more prep to take it. A bit of oil and it slid in easily.

The Bull pressed his fingers against the base of it; tugged and tested for nothing more than the pleasure of seeing how Dorian opened around it.

Dorian gasped, head turned against the pillows, mouth hanging open. His heels dug into the mattress, hard. His hips jerked. 

An image to keep. To treasure.

The Bull put the oil in easy reach and clambered up onto the bed, kneeling over Dorian's chest; for all Dorian's size, for how big a human he was, not a difficult feat. Pressure all the same on Dorian's ribs, the Bull's heavy weight pushing down on him, just a bit. Restricting.

Dorian was always pretty into that. Didn't always know his limits too well with it, in the moment. But this was fine, safe, just a reminder of a possibility.

The Bull leant his weight forward, hand to the wall. With his other he took hold of Dorian's chin, turned his face; dragged his hand down to rest over Dorian's throat, fingers still holding Dorian's jaw.

"You're going to suck me off," the Bull said, "and I'm going to come all over your face, and you're still going to be lying there needing to come yourself. But that's not going to happen yet."

He tilted his hips so that the head of his dick pressed against Dorian's parted lips; didn't thrust, just let it sit there. Felt his breath shake a little at the brush of Dorian's mouth. He'd been neglecting himself, and he was feeling pretty damn on edge already, damn, damn, it was just that Dorian was so fucking gorgeous, so ready to let the Bull take care of him.

Dorian strained to lift his head, managed to close his lips around the Bull's dick, just an inch or so of it, the broad flare of the head, the ridges right below it that humans always thought were really damn fascinating or a bit off-putting.

Dorian had never been put off.

He dragged his tongue across them now, moaned as they spread a bit at the attention, grew harder, making it easier for him to keep the Bull's dick in his mouth.

The Bull rocked his hips gently, and Dorian moaned. The Bull could feel the arch of Dorian's body against his ass, the backs of his thighs; felt the tremor that ran through Dorian as the movement shifted the plug he wore.

The oil.

The Bull let go of Dorian's jaw, fumbled to coat his fingers. Pushed his hips further forward until he felt the head of his dick against the back of Dorian's mouth, not quite hitting the resistance of his throat, and made use of the way that curved his body to push a finger into himself, way less gently than he'd fingered Dorian, making himself grunt at the stretch, the pressure. His turn to rock back and forth between the feeling of his fingers and the delicious heat of Dorian's mouth, and it wasn't going to take long, it wasn't going to take long—it wasn't— 

He sat back hard enough to make Dorian gasp as his orgasm snapped his body tight, his dick slipping free from Dorian's mouth, leaving Dorian wet-lipped and panting, the Bull's come streaking his face in pulse after pulse after pulse, shaking him, shaking him, shaking Dorian— 

He felt unsteady, at the heat of it, at the sight of Dorian covered in his come, the open-mouthed noises Dorian was making. But it didn't matter. He wasn't done.

He levered himself back, clumsier than he meant to be; shifted himself backwards down the bed and, reaching behind himself to feel what he was doing, sank himself down in one slow motion onto Dorian's dick, growling at the overstimulation, the last shocks of his orgasm still shuddering through him.

But Dorian—Dorian cried out, full-voiced, desperate, wordless, "Oh, oh, oh, oh—"

Dampness on the red of the blindfold, either side of Dorian's face.

"Alright?" the Bull asked, and heat flared around him, Dorian's mouth unmoving. Dorian's hands were clenched hard where they rested against the headboard. "Alright."

Slow movements, his body too sensitive to let him push hard—different to do it than to be made to do it, harder to find those limits and move past them. Today was for Dorian to do that, and the Bull was the instrument of it.

Besides, Dorian didn't need much. Felt everything so intensely, his body jolting at the smallest stimulation, on and on.

The Bull kept grinding down on Dorian's dick until his own began to take notice again, until the strangeness of it sparked into interest, into heat. Moved his hands on the bare skin of Dorian's stomach, nails on his sides to leave red lines, soft pressure with a palm below his navel.

Pulled off, off and up onto his feet, leaving Dorian heaving sobbing breaths, such a damn sight, perfect.

"Gonna untie your hands now," the Bull said. "Think you can do hands and knees?"

Dorian nodded, but weakly, which made the Bull doubt it.

"Just up on your knees, weight forward" the Bull said as he undid the cuffs. "Face to the bed. No, not yet. Gonna clean your face off first. Easy. No, easy, I'm right here. You're so fucking good. Damn."

He lingered on the act of cleaning, the chance to trace every line of Dorian's face like he needed to memorise it.

"There you go," he said, and heard wonder in his voice. "Up you get."

Hands to guide. Dorian's shoulders slumped to the bed, his knees almost steady. 

The Bull grabbed the largest of his rings from the table, closed it very carefully around his own dick; sighed at the feeling of it, familiar but long neglected.

"I'm gonna fuck you now," he said. "And you're going to touch yourself. Here."

He took one of Dorian's hands, kissed the wrist, kissed the palm; pulled it back and pressed it up between Dorian's legs, flat against his balls.

Dorian's fingers brushed against the plug he still wore. He shivered.

The Bull pulled the plug free, pressed two fingers into Dorian by way of experiment, felt a jolt of satisfaction when Dorian cried out.

Knelt up behind him.

Fucked him.

Dorian cried out on every breath, on every thrust of the Bull's hips. Forgetting all restraint, forgetting himself, only feeling, feeling, feeling—the Bull knew it, recognised it, felt it echo in him. Long ago, when he had people to submit to, people to take him out of his head until he was only a long spiral of painful pleasure.

I am a thing that invokes this.

On and on and on.

Dorian sobbing, every touch too much; pushing back, all the same, to meet the Bull's thrusts. Stroking desperately, all the same, at his dick.

The Bull reached around beneath Dorian, hands brushing. Settled his fingers on the metal ring and fumbled for the catch.

"Come," he said.

And Dorian did, screaming, ragged, clawing at the sheets.

 

 

Afterwards, afterwards, blindfold removed, body carefully cleaned, he let the Bull hold him.

Afterwards, the Bull let himself hold Dorian.

A slow sinking, a need. Here we are. Here we are. Here we are.

"Well," Dorian said, "that was alright, I suppose."

His arm around the Bull.

His body lax.

"Damn," the Bull said. "I'll try harder next time."

Dorian smiled against the Bull's side, his messed up mustache scratching against the Bull's skin.

"Oh no," he said, "I think you'll find it's my turn."


End file.
